


Taboo

by myrthrilmercury



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Awkward Boners, Children of Characters, Falling In Love, Fear of Discovery, Kink Negotiation, Masturbation, Moral Dilemmas, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pining, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prompt Fill, Questioning, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Fantasy, Teasing, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 08:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10716018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrthrilmercury/pseuds/myrthrilmercury
Summary: Timestamp set during "Dangerous Game," in which Marc struggles with his feelings before indulging his curiosities.





	Taboo

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dangerous Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9653441) by [myrthrilmercury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrthrilmercury/pseuds/myrthrilmercury). 



It was an insidious thing; one that began innocently enough.

Marc and Patric had hit it off immediately when they first met, and Marc liked the guy. As for Patric, apparently when he liked someone, he _really_ liked someone.

There was no other explanation for why Patric suddenly began presenting him with game pucks, or touching him while he did so. Or touching Marc in general. 

But then again, it wasn’t as if Marc was discouraging him any. He knew he would be lying if he told himself that he didn’t like the attention. 

Maybe that’s why he was the one who was usually initiating all of the physical contact. 

Then it began to spiral out of control.

It began when they were screwing around during warmups, and Marc finally perfected his trick of throwing a puck into the air and knocking it away with his stick mid-air. Maybe someday, he could launch pucks over the glass this way?

Then, just to be a dick, Patric pretended to find the trick unimpressive and skated right into Marc. Even as he cracked a smile, Marc still jabbed him lightly in response. Unsurprisingly, Patric reciprocated, and they kept it up for a bit. 

Then the jabs became nuzzles. When they got closer, the nuzzling became an awkward half-embrace. Patric began skating away once they’d both apparently had enough, and Marc took the opportunity to skate right into Patric while his guard was down. 

When he thought back on it, Marc surmised that the teasing may have been payback for replacing the contents of Patric’s deodorant stick with a block of cream cheese during the last road series. 

But that didn’t explain why they started doing it over and over. Or why it became a necessary part of their warmups; enough so that it would completely throw Marc off of his game if he didn’t get his fix beforehand. 

There was also no explanation for why Patric began dedicating goals to Marc. Marc didn’t know why this, or any other appreciation by Patric, suddenly resounded far more than anything any of the other guys could have said to him.

What Marc did know was that whenever Patric looked right at Marc as he deposited a game puck in Marc’s glove, everything and everyone around them vanished, and time stopped for them both, the only two people in the whole entire world.

***

The locker room had never fazed Marc before.

He’d always disregarded the nudity and continued to do his own thing, but now, he was especially aware whenever Patric was in any stage of undress.

It didn’t help that Patric had a habit of casually strolling around with barely anything on. Knowing him, he probably only wore clothes because it was illegal for him not to. 

It was bad enough that Marc caught himself sneaking glances at Patric’s stall, but now, his mind and body were beginning to react to the spectacle as well.

Duper had once joked that Patric could turn the Pope gay, but it didn’t reassure Marc. Although it had been an offhanded joke during a discussion of everyone’s quirks, Marc couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was being called out. 

Especially because there was no reason for him to be staring, Vero chiefly among them. Besides, he wasn’t into that sort of thing anyway. He was straight. _Straight._

At least, that’s what he’d always thought.

If he were straight, there was no reason for him to be _wanting_ to stare. Or have an excuse to. Or get giddy like a teenager whenever Patric lavished on the praise and adoration. Or touch Patric as often as he did, let alone like it as much as he did whenever Patric did the same to him. Or to be thinking about the man constantly. 

If, in fact, he really _wasn’t_ straight, then why hadn’t he figured it out earlier? Why hadn’t any other guys had this effect on him before?

What was happening to him?

And why Patric? Why now?

Why did this have to be so complicated?

***

Even though there was an ocean between them, when he wasn’t with Vero or the girls, Marc couldn’t stop thinking of Patric. 

When he wasn’t with Vero or Estelle, or trapped in the endless loop of feedings and changings after Scarlet’s arrival, his thoughts would turn to the moments he spent in Patric’s lap.

Letting Patric coax his emotions out of him did help him feel much better about everything that happened. Besides, Patric was right—they wouldn’t have made it to the Finals anyway.

But in those moments before he drifted off to sleep, other feelings had stirred within Marc. 

Not only was he being pulled away from the edge of despair, but he also felt incredibly safe and secure in Patric’s arms, to the point where he hadn’t wanted Patric to let go. 

Marc longed to feel that same warmth again; to delve into the serenity that both of them had shared.

Since it was the offseason, both Marc and Patric were busy with their own lives, so they only emailed each other once a week. Reading any of Patric’s emails was always the height of the day. 

Even that contact didn’t feel like enough. What good was it if Patric wasn’t by his side?

It wasn’t long before the thoughts and memories were accompanied by daydreams. Marc often recalled Patric’s hand running through his hair as he whispered softly to him. 

But what if he hadn’t fallen asleep that night?

Maybe it he had stayed awake, that hand would have traveled downwards to rest under his chin, Then, Patric would have gently lifted Marc’s head so that he could lean down and press his lips to Marc’s.

It was strange. Marc hadn’t ever thought of kissing a guy. It just didn’t register in his mind.

Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Patric. In fact, he wanted to.

And then he began wanting more. 

He wanted Patric’s hands meandering up and down his naked skin as he surrendered himself, mind and body, letting Patric’s mouth wander wherever it wanted to.

Marc began wondering what Patric would be like in bed. Would he be slow and gentle, or quick and intense? Would he be vocal? Did he like being touched? Marc certainly hoped so—he could spend hours just running his hands up and down that chiseled, rock-hard chest. It was _perfect,_ just like Patric. Patric easily put Michelangelo’s David to shame.

The fantasies didn’t end with the offseason. Once Marc returned to Pittsburgh, they intensified. And he frequently found himself having to do something about them. 

Especially when he began picturing them lying side by side, with his back sandwiched against Patric’s chest. Patric would then wrap his arms around Marc before craning his neck downwards to bite Marc’s neck while he pressed his hips forward, sliding all the way inside of him. 

The recurring fantasy dissipated in an instant as Marc’s eyes snapped open. He squirmed under the covers a bit, trying to find some part of the bed that wasn’t saturated in sweat. The relief only lasted for a few seconds when finally located a dry, cool area of the sheets; as his throbbing cock brought a whole different type of discomfort. 

Marc took several long, deep breaths, trying to calm the pounding of his heart against his chest to no avail. He could only remember the part of his recent dream where he would open his eyes and look down to see Patric’s head between his legs and the hands resting on his thighs. 

Turning in bed didn’t help. Instead, the friction between the sheets and Marc’s sweatpants rubbed all of the accumulated material across the lower half of his body, sending a jolt throughout him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this turned on by anything.

Marc slid his hands underneath the bedsheets and began reaching for his cock, but froze when he heard Kuni turning in his sleep on the other bed.

_BAD IDEA._

It was a no-win situation. No way in hell was Marc getting back to sleep without taking care of his problem first. But jerking off with a teammate a few feet away was way beyond creepy.

After a few moments of panicked contemplation, Marc pushed himself out of bed and staggered over to the bathroom before pushing the door closed as quietly as possible and fumbling with the doorknob until he found the lock.

Hopefully Kuni didn’t have to pee anytime soon.

***

It was in a booth at the Speakeasy over champagne and oysters on an unseasonably warm winter night that Marc fell in love once more.

It had to be fate. There was no other reason Patric would have shown up in Market Square when the girls got sick and Vero was stuck at home. 

Oddly enough, Vero didn’t mind that Patric had been his plus one for the night. Like him, she was probably happy the money he’d deposited ahead of time didn’t go to waste, since the management at Perlé refused to reschedule or cancel his reservation. 

She’d made the offhanded comment that Marc and Patric had been on a date. It was amusing at first, but as time went on, it really began to get under Marc’s skin.

Especially since, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it _had_ been a date. 

And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted Vero to stop chirping him about it. It _wasn’t_ a joke. Marc knew she didn’t mean it, but she was tearing his heart to pieces whenever she made that joke. 

Thinking back on everything, odds were he’d fallen for Patric long before that. It just took a night to themselves for Marc to realize how he truly felt.

Being alone with Patric gave him the exact same surge of energy and emotion that he had felt with Vero, so many years ago. 

Especially when he discovered that Patric was also into guys.

Patric didn’t say anything else about his previous relationship before Malin, and Marc didn’t press the topic. He could tell it was a sore subject. But the revelation launched a million fantasies in Marc’s brain, all dancing and floating within him like moths to a flame.

Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance with Patric.

Or, at least, that was what he wanted to think. But he couldn’t let himself go on like this.

Not when he had committed the mortal sin of allowing his heart to be rend into two. 

Marc knew that everything he felt for Patric was wrong, and the guilt was eating him alive. This, however, was a matchup he was nowhere near strong or skilled enough to win.

If he couldn’t fight his feelings, the next best thing was to redirect them to Vero, where they belonged.

Many of his forbidden fantasies involved being penetrated. Perhaps if he let Vero do it, he could redirect the thoughts and begin associating them with her instead.

He decided to bring up the subject late one night when he and Vero were both getting ready for bed.

“I was thinking…” Marc began. “I’ve been getting really interested in the idea of, um…” It was then that he realized that thinking about how he wanted to discuss everything beforehand would have been a good idea. Instead, he just blurted out the first phrase that came to mind. “Backdoor play.” 

Vero drew back incredulously, with her face frozen in disbelief and her jaw hanging slack.

“No, not you,” Marc immediately clarified. “I mean, me.”

“Wait.” Vero pursed her lips and furrowed her brow in concentration for a few moments before pointing a finger at herself. “Me…” She slowly turned the finger towards Marc. “On you?”

“Yeah.” Marc nodded. “What do you think?”

“I…” Vero pondered the question for a few moments before shaking her head. “Eh…no. Just…no. Sorry.”

Well, _that_ didn’t go as well as he’d hoped. “All right.” With that, Marc dropped the subject, and he never brought it up again. 

Then again, his own efforts weren’t exactly going well, either. The next best thing was to try buying a toy for himself. If he at least tried penetration and got the curiosity out of his system, maybe he could banish those thoughts of Patric from his mind. 

At least, that was the original plan. But no matter how much research he did, or how much he was intrigued by what was available online, he always lost his nerve. And then, when he’d think back on it later, he’d be pissed at himself. 

What was he so afraid of?

***

All of Marc’s efforts to fight his feelings for Patric were for naught. Instead of vanishing, his feelings only intensified.

And his fantasies became much more explicit.

It was the strangest thing. He’d never been attracted to guys before. Nor had he ever been interested in penetration. Until now, the idea had never done anything for him.

But Patric had awakened something deep inside of him that he never knew existed. 

He was still too much of a pussy to buy any toys for himself, but _goddammit,_ he was going to figure out how it felt one way or another.

Tonight was perfect. Vero was having a girls’ night out with her friends. She definitely deserved it, what with single-handedly running the house, and corralling Estelle and Scarlet all day. Marc had no idea just how she did everything. Why the woman had never been nominated for sainthood was beyond him. 

It was late enough that the girls were both in bed. Scarlet had gone to bed without a fight. Meanwhile, Estelle had refused to get under the covers without her Applejack plushie, and Marc had to tear up the house for half an hour looking for the damn thing. But at least he finally found it. And thank God Estelle was actually fucking asleep now.

He was alone. It was quiet. And he had been worked up _all fucking day_ since Patric had gone parading around the locker room in his underwear for the millionth time. Not that there was anything wrong with that; it was just a thing Patric did that was as natural to him as breathing. But Marc hadn’t looked away quickly enough, and once he caught enough of a glimpse, the dam burst and the deluge of desire flooded his mind and body. 

Marc grabbed a bath towel and a washcloth from the linen closet before heading into the bedroom and locking the door. Sure, Estelle was asleep _now,_ but there was always the possibility of an interruption if he didn’t, and he _really_ didn’t want to have to talk to her about this sort of thing until she was older. 

After stripping naked and throwing his clothes into the hamper, Marc proceeded to turn the bedsheets down and unfurl the bath towel before setting it down on his side of the bed. He didn’t need to make a mess. 

He walked over to Vero’s nightstand and opened the bottom drawer. His memory had been correct, and that was where she kept the lube. No matter how many times he had tried to convince her that it was perfectly normal for women to need that stuff, especially after two kids, she had still been awfully self-conscious about it in recent days. He’d need to work on that with her.

But that wasn’t his concern right then. Marc retrieved the bottle from the drawer and pushed it closed before setting it and the washcloth down on his own nightstand.

There was a slight chill in the room that bristled his arms as he climbed into bed and sat down on the bath towel before reclining on his pillow.

Marc closed his eyes as he recalled the daydream he’d had while Vero was making dinner. He and Patric would be in the gym after hours, and Patric would be watching him while occasionally coming over to adjust his technique.

The adjustments would be minor; an occasional brief touch of forearm or thigh to get Marc into alignment. But Marc’s planks wouldn’t be good enough for Patric, who would always crouch down and place a hand on the small of Marc’s back and press down, just enough for Marc to feel it.

Eventually Patric would release the pressure of his hand as Marc finally got the hang of it. But then, when he went to do one last plank, Patric’s hand would return to where it previously had been, and linger there for a few moments before sliding down to the curve of Marc’s ass.

Marc would turn his head to look behind him, but Patric would scold him gently, telling him to look back down. 

And when Marc would comply, the hand would move slowly up and down before grasping and kneading everything it could grab.

Once Marc’s breathing grew faster and more labored, Patric’s other arm would reach down and encircle his chest before pulling gently, coaxing Marc onto his knees before the other hand left his ass and moved to his face, turning his head towards Patric. 

Marc’s cock twitched in his hand as he imagined the next part; where Patric would tilt his head and lean forward to press his lips against Marc’s, deepening the kiss when Marc responded. When Patric’s tongue slipped into Marc’s mouth, the hand that had rested on Marc’s chest would slowly travel downwards, all five fingers forging individual paths before stopping between Marc’s legs and stroking him through the material of his shorts.

They’d stay like that for a little while, with Marc’s eyes squinched shut as he whimpered into Patric’s mouth before they both got up and headed to the showers.

Once they were there, the hot water would beat down on them as Patric pressed Marc against the cool tiles as Marc would surrender, allowing Patric’s mouth and hands to travel wherever they pleased as Patric slowly and deliberately guided him to the moon and back.

Marc’s arousal was painful now, and if he kept this up, he wouldn’t even last long enough to use the lube. He drew a long, deep breath as he released his cock and retrieved the bottle from its spot on the nightstand. 

He popped the cap open and squeezed a bit on his first two fingers before setting the bottle back down. Once he spread the lube evenly enough over his fingers, Marc took a deep breath and held it as he spread his legs and reached down.

There was another sharp inhale as his finger brushed across his entrance. His body shuddered, sending an unpleasant surge of adrenaline through him. Apparently this would take a little more work.

Marc reminded himself to breathe as he closed his eyes and let his fingers wander, recalling the shower part of the fantasy as he traced up and down his perineum. Vero had never touched that spot before, and the new sensations sent delicious shockwaves up and down his spine.

When Marc felt ready to try again, he gingerly poked his rim with one finger, unsure of what to expect. This time, he did not recoil. Instead, he was able to gently coax himself open and push his finger in, stopping halfway to the second knuckle. The feeling was foreign, but not unpleasant. 

Marc breathed deeply as he closed his eyes and imagined Patric above him and pushing his cock inside ever so slowly, mimicking the image with his finger as he slid it all the way in. His body quivered as he wiggled the finger slightly to loosen himself up. 

Once he started imagining Patric moving in and out of him, suddenly one finger wasn’t enough. He withdrew the finger and added a second, moving much more slowly this time as he felt himself stretch. As he scissored his fingers inside, he noted every last sensation, surprised at how easily his body was adjusting to accommodate what was happening.

“Oh, fuck…” Marc began thrusting his fingers in and out as his imagination ran wild, placing Patric in the room and right on top of him as Patric’s breath was hot against his ear, telling him how beautiful he was and how good it felt inside of him.

And suddenly, with one extra push of his fingers, he found out why so many gay men sang the praises of the ultimate surrender as he found exactly where his most sensitive spot was located.

Marc squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his head to the left, pressing his cheek into the pillow as he began stroking his cock with his free hand. He repeated his fortuitous discovery again and again with the lubed-up fingers as his surroundings dissolved and the movements became Patric inside of him, moving like quicksilver as he leaned in close, telling Marc everything he wanted and needed to hear. 

Marc thrust against his fingers and kept them still, also keeping his hips forward as he jerked himself harder and faster. Now he was starting to tremble as he teetered on the edge; lightheaded and delirious with ecstasy as his essence drifted off to sea, untethered from the moor of logic and reason. 

And then he imagined Patric clutching his arms, nails digging into the skin as his body shuddered and he buried himself as deep inside of Marc as he could before coming inside of him.

If Marc had any notion of what Patric’s face might look like when he came, it flashed through his mind far too quickly to make an impression.

But Patric would never look away the entire time, not even as he rode out the waves of pleasure. And Patric would be coming undone because Marc had done that to him.

That thought was all it took to tear his orgasm out of him, ripping Marc to shreds as come spurted onto his stomach, with some leaking onto his hand as well. 

Marc remained motionless for some time afterwards, breathing raggedly as the remainder of his consciousness gradually returned. Slowly and gently, he withdrew his fingers from his hole, bending them slightly once they were back out to ensure his hand hadn’t fallen asleep.

Eventually, he regained his bearings and began breathing normally again. He hadn’t come that hard in months. 

And if Vero didn’t want to do this to him…well, her loss. 

Marc placed his hands at his sides and made two unsuccessful attempts to push himself into a seated position. When his arms still didn’t want to work properly, he abandoned that effort and instead rolled onto his left side. He took his time, lying there for a few moments before his strength returned and he was able to throw his legs over the side of the bed and sit up. 

He took several long, deep breaths before standing up and staggering over to the bathroom to clean up.


End file.
